


A Helping Hand

by serenalunera



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Awkward Boners, Doctor!Rick, Explicit Language, Flirting, Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M, Patient!Daryl, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016, Teasing, innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/pseuds/serenalunera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl winds up at the hospital after a motorcycle accident. Things don't go too well with Dr. Anderson, and Dr. Grimes - newly appointed chief of staff - takes over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fill for a prompt sent to me on tumblr, as well as a fill for the "Awkward Boners" square on my Bingo Card :)

“Get yer fuckin' hands off me!”

A commotion follows the shout, scream from patients and staff alike echoing in the emergency room. A wounded man lands a hard enough punch to throw Dr. Anderson to the ground, prompting Dr. Greene to call security and the other doctors to try and get their patients as far away from the feral man as possible. The security guards, Walsh and Ford, get there in record time, and it takes the both of them to get the injured man away from the physician and restrain him, the patient snarling and fighting them the whole time.

“You best let go of me! Both of ya'll!” The man barks, doing his best to throw off the two burly men holding him down against the hospital bed. He kicks and thrashes in their hold like a wild animal, spitting more venom at them the more they press down on his body.

“We'll let go when you stop behaving like a fucking psycho, man.” Walsh spits as he pushes down even harder on the stranger's injured shoulder to shut him up, only resulting in a pained yell and more thrashing.

“What the hell is going on here?” Dr. Grimes' voice cracks through the air like a whip, stunning Walsh and Ford into relaxing their hold on the wild patient enough for him to slip away, sending more equipment flying as he scrambles to get as far away from the staff as possible.

“Chief! He–” Dr. Anderson is cut off by more clatter as Walsh tries to get a hold of the man once again, only for him to evade him and crash into more and more material – no doubt worsening his injuries in the process, judging by the expression on his face.

“Enough! Shane, just let the man go for Christ's sake.” Dr. Grimes sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose absent-mindedly as he waits for the security guard to back down, the stranger visibly in pain and out of breath in a corner of the room.

“The son of a bitch punched me in the face and you're letting him off the hook? What the hell, Grimes?!” Dr. Anderson barks, getting in Dr. Grimes' face as he does so, trying to use his height to intimidate his superior into backing him up.

“He's injured and in distress and you want me to throw him out? Do I have to remind you of the oath you took, Dr. Anderson?” Dr. Grimes tilts his head, his eyes dark and menacing as he stares at the taller man hard enough to put him back in his place.

“I can't help him if he won't _let_ me.” Dr. Anderson grits his teeth, taking a step back. He's positively seething, the hard set of his jaw and the drying blood beneath his nose worsening the look of anger plastered on his face.

“Fine. _I_ 'll deal with him. Go get yourself cleaned up. We'll have a talk about your bedside manners later.” Dr. Grimes' tone is final, and so is the look he shoots Dr. Anderson when the man walks away, muttering under his breath, words like _white trash_ and _pissy little princess_ reaching the chief of staff's ears before the physician makes himself scarce.

Dr. Grimes sees red for a moment before he focuses back on the injured man huddled in the corner, his features softening at how beat up the poor man looks. Sighing, the surgeon makes his way towards the patient, taking great care in appearing as non-threatening as possible. He stops a few paces away from the other man to pick up the chart from the mess on the floor, squinting to read the man's name in the EMT's squiggly handwriting.

“Mr. Dixon, right? What do you say we take you to a private exam room and get a look at those injuries of yours?” Dr. Grimes throws the man his most reassuring smile before extending his hand towards him, offering him some much needed assistance in getting up.

Said Mr. Dixon glares at him warily before taking his hand, pushing himself off the floor with a wince of pain. Dr. Grimes guides him to a more secluded area, opening the door to an empty exam room and closing it behind him. The physician asks him to lay down on the table in the middle of the room, the patient's ribs screaming at him when he complies. Dr. Grimes washes his hands before he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and walks over to the other man, a polite smile highlighting his features as he makes a quick assessment of the chart, only to find out Mr. Dixon had been in a motorcycle accident just a few hours prior.

\---

“Judging by your chart, it's safe to assume your collarbone is more than likely fractured. I'm surprised you can even lift your arm at all at this point.” Dr. Grimes raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed by his patient's ability to suppress pain.

“Just 'cause I can don't mean it don't hurt.” Mr. Dixon grunts, wincing as he tries to get a little more comfortable on the exam table, the pain in his ribs radiating through his abdomen with every little movement.

“That your ribs giving you grief?” Dr. Grimes inquires, grabbing the nearby chair and rolling it closer to the other man, meticulously laying instruments on a tray before sitting down in said chair and looking up at his patient just in time to see him nod tightly.

“Yeah. EMT said a couple were broken. My wrist probably, too.” Mr. Dixon seems to relax a little as the physician nods in understanding, turning towards the tray to pick up a pair of scissors.

“I'm gonna need to cut off your shirt to take a look at your injuries. I'll do it along the seam so you can get it fixed later, okay?” Dr. Grimes tilts his head to assess the patient's reaction, the man simply nodding to signal he had heard the surgeon.

Dr. Grimes starts cutting almost instantly, working quickly and efficiently as he strips his patient of his simple black shirt. The physician suppresses a wince at the sight of the rapidly forming bruises on the other man's abdomen, making sure to warn him before he starts feeling for the breaks. He makes short work of the palpation, moving on to the man's collarbone and wrist before tending to the various accounts of road rash and cuts all over Mr. Dixon's upper body. The surgeon always makes sure to alert the man before moving on to a different area, and to explain to him exactly what he's going to do, and why, the various explanations visibly putting the patient more at ease.

Mr. Dixon tells him he might as well start calling him Daryl a few moments later, the patient joking about them being pretty intimate already, seeing as he is now down to his underwear and Dr. Grimes is busy tending to a severe account of road rash on his thigh. The surgeon grins at that, visibly pleased by the ease with which Daryl talks to him now, no longer speaking in clipped, half-muttered sentences – and most importantly, no longer on the defensive. He even sounds a little bit like he might be flirting with the physician, which puts them both in a much better mood than they had been in earlier.

Dr. Grimes ends up ordering a round of x-rays for the man's ribs, wrist and collarbone, and makes sure to see Daryl through them and once again explain the nature of the injuries and the treatment plan for them. They're back in the same private exam room a few hours later, Mr. Dixon now sitting up on the table in the middle of the room, back in his torn up jeans and using a hospital gown as a makeshift shirt. He looks a little ridiculous like this, with his ill-fitting gown that's crumpling past his thighs on top of the ruined denim, and his overly bright blue cast looking like a dead weight as he rests his wrist across his lap.

“You're gonna have to wear a sling for the next five to six weeks, depending on how you're healing. I'm gonna need you to come back for a follow up in a week or two as well.” Dr. Grimes motions to the sling in his hands, instructing his patient to stay still while he adjusts it on his shoulder.

“No riding, then?” Daryl asks with a little crease in his brow, wincing as the physician puts his arm into place and tightens the sling accordingly.

“No riding. Of any kind.” Dr. Grimes deadpans, a little smirk stretching the corners of his lips at his own choice of words. His grin widens when he sees the confusion on his patient's face turn into realization, a deep blush settling high on the man's cheeks.

“Ain't got nothin' ta ride on anyway.” Daryl mutters, dropping his gaze and staring intently at the floor as the physician huffs out a little laugh, stepping away from him to take off his gloves and throw them away.

“Good to know.” Dr. Grimes' reply comes as yet another shock for Daryl, who jerks his head up so fast a stab of pain shoots through his shoulder, making him wince once again and drawing an amused laugh out of the surgeon. “Don't go hurting yourself now, Mr. Dixon. I'm gonna need you nice and healed next time I see you.”

Daryl gulps and tries _very hard_ to ignore the situation arising in his pants.

\---

Daryl comes back for his follow up a week and a half later, stiff and pretty damn grumpy. The pretty brown-haired nurse at the front desk informs him that Dr. Grimes won't be able to see him because of an emergency surgery, and suggests he might want to take a seat in the waiting room until another physician is able to free himself. The redneck suppresses a sigh and thanks the nurse, lingering long enough to see the red-haired security guard from last time offering her a cup of coffee, which she takes gratefully, making Daryl snort on his way to the waiting room.

Dr. Greene is the one to take over for the chief of staff, the old man both gentle and efficient in the way he handles Daryl's arm and looks over his ribs. He apologizes on behalf of Dr. Grimes, explaining that he is quite the busy man and that he hardly ever gets to operate these days, advising the redneck not to take his absence personally – which Daryl cannot help but understand, even if the realization that he probably won't see the gorgeous surgeon ever again hits him with a pang of disappointment.

The old physician asks him to come back another couple of weeks later, and this time the nurse at the front desk is a beautiful dark-skinned woman who tells him Dr. Grimes will see him, but might be late due to a meeting. Daryl thanks her and can't help but notice the guard buying her a cup of coffee is the same one as last time. The redneck frowns before taking a seat in the waiting room, musing over the fact that the drama you see on TV might hold a little truth after all.

He stays slumped over in his seat for a good half hour before Dr. Grimes shows up, seemingly putting on a fresh pair of scrubs on his way inside of the waiting room. The surgeon's eyes fall on him, a smile turning the corners of his mouth upwards almost instantly as he makes his way over to him. Daryl stands up to greet the man, extending his valid hand – the left one – to shake the physician's rather firmly. Dr. Grimes apologizes profusely for making him wait on their way to the man's office, which Daryl dismisses with a couple of clipped words, the pair sitting down in courteous silence.

“So, Mr. Dixon, how's the arm? Giving you any trouble?” Dr. Grimes pulls a file out of a drawer, familiar x-rays catching the redneck's eye as he spreads it out on the desk in front of him, looking it over for a second before focusing back on his patient.

“Hurts like a bitch most of the time. Can't do nothin' and it's driving me nuts.” Daryl grunts, sinking in his seat at the thought of how difficult it is to even wash himself, let alone do stuff he actually enjoys. Like hunting. Or fishing. Or...

“Anyone there to help you with _things_?” Dr. Grimes raises a brow questioningly, a hint of a smile on his lips as he leans forward on the desk slightly, sky blue eyes boring into Daryl's storm grey ones.

“Nah. Probably why I feel so _frustrated_.” Daryl hides his smirk behind his non-injured hand, biting at the skin of his thumb absent-mindedly as he feels a slight flush creeping onto his cheeks.

Dr. Grimes returns his smirk before offering to _check him out_ , the innuendo all too clear in the sultry undertones of his voice. The surgeon takes just as much care in handling Daryl as he did the first time, making sure to comment on the redneck's well developed musculature – embarrassing the hell out of him in the process. They flirt back and forth for the whole duration of the appointment, and after a little coaxing from Daryl, Dr. Grimes ends up accepting his offer to go out for drinks that very night, on the one condition that the redneck be referred to a different physician for the remainder of his treatment.

\---

They end up getting drinks at Joe's – the bar nearest to the hospital – and if Daryl wasn't so busy thanking whoever is out there for landing him a date with his hot as fuck doctor, he would laugh at how ridiculously déjà-vu this all feels. But then again, no one is supposed to know he binge watches Grey's Anatomy reruns when he's bored, and he would rather things stayed that way for a long, long time.

They get a little table in the corner, Dr. Grimes – he's supposed to call him _Rick_ now – asking him at least a hundred times if he's comfortable throughout the night. Which, admittedly, is pretty cute at first, until it just gets too much and the redneck has to put a stop to it, resulting in Daryl regretting that decision instantly because _nothing_ could have prepared him for the look on the surgeon's face. The man's glare is so goddamn convincing Daryl starts apologizing right away, only for Rick to brush it off with a wave of his hand and a smile so mischievous the redneck feels himself stiffening in his pants in response.

The rest of the night proves very uncomfortable for Daryl, because every time he feels himself calming down, the other man does something incredibly arousing, like licking his lips, taking a swig of his beer or just _existing_ in general. The redneck secretly hates the guy for it, already picturing himself tossing and turning in his bed with a very persistent hard-on and no way to relieve himself. Because yes, Daryl has tried, and he cannot physically take care of himself without hurting his ribs in the process. Which, in retrospect, is probably why anything Rick does turns him on, seeing as the last orgasm he's given himself was a couple of days before his accident.

Unfortunately, Rick seems to pick up on that.

“Something wrong, Daryl? You've been fidgeting all night. Now I know I said I'd stop asking if you were comfortable, but if you're not, you should tell me.” Rick offers, quirking up a brow as he stares at him from across the table.

“Don't worry 'bout it.” Daryl grunts, dismissing the other man by taking a sip of his beer, attempting to cross his legs but thinking better of it given the five person tent currently pitching in his jeans.

“You sure? Maybe I can help.” Rick presses, his gaze shifting from Daryl's face to his body, his vision thankfully blocked by the table. He looks concerned, and his insistence is driving the redneck nuts.

“Fine. I've been hard as fuck all night 'cause of yer stupid fucking _everything_ , and it pisses me off 'cause my ribs hurt too much for me ta touch my dick, so unless yer planning on jerking me off before this date ends, then no, ya can't help.” Daryl barks, glaring at Rick for good measure.

The slow smirk forming on Rick's lips is enough of an answer for Daryl, who finds himself tangled in sheets that don't belong to him less than an hour later.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[serenalunera](http://serenalunera.tumblr.com)


End file.
